


Double Edged

by maverickmabel



Series: That Which Is Essential [2]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-03-08 13:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18895441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maverickmabel/pseuds/maverickmabel
Summary: Ernest unwinds, Lemony asks a lot of questions.





	1. Chapter 1

Lemony Snicket looked up from his typing as a note slid under the hotel room door.

It was a small printed card, like a business card, probably one of many, and it read: ‘The Manager Requests Your Presence.’ Then written underneath was _‘Room 615’_. Lemony squinted at the handwriting, more out of habit than hope. Despite spending a great deal of time studying the graphological profiles of his fellow guests and hosts in preparation for his stay, it was generally beyond him to identify anything more specific than ‘a Denouement’. Which is a good thing, he chided himself. We like that. We use it. He read the card again.

Six hundred and fifteen. He remembered the six hundreds being about technology and practical science, and was pretty sure the six-tens was to do with medicine. This didn’t help much, especially given he didn’t know whether to be thinking of a guest or a facility. The possibilities he _could_ think of were unnerving so he stopped. He picked up his jacket from the coat rack and carefully removed a piece of paper from the inside pocket, replacing it with a blank postcard retrieved from his suitcase. Then he folded the paper lengthways, several times, before popping the cover off the typewriter’s space bar and tucking it inside. There was no meeting time given on the appointment card, so he would have to leave immediately. The risk of delaying on a friend was too great for hesitation or counter-espionage (as any enemy worth their salt - a phrase which here means ‘capable of manipulating uncertainty to get what they want’ - would be well aware). Pulling on the jacket and quickly performing final checks in the mirror, Lemony hurried out into the hotel to confront today’s mystery.

 

* * *

 

Room 615 was a large, blue room with plush, green couches and dark, wooden cabinets. Candles burnt on many surfaces, though the space was already lit by small ceiling lamps and the grey light from the sky outside. A doctor’s examination table was set up near the window, granting an impressive view of the sea for anyone using it. Spindly plants grew from ornate pots and climbed the walls, surrounding wide framed mirrors with delicate leaves. Little tables huddled in useful spaces, carrying coasters and magazines. From somewhere came a woody smell of incense. The overall effect was luxurious and refreshing, but impersonal. It reminded Lemony of an expensive clinic. He opened one of the cabinets. Rows and rows of pharmaceutical bottles next to stacks of folded towels. Suddenly overwhelmed with dread, Lemony was about to abandon all responsibilities and disappear into the corridors when the door opened behind him and the manager himself walked in.

He was the picture of efficiency as he strode briskly towards him, hands tucked behind his back, radiating the calm urgency that always surrounded the Denouements in their natural habitat. He spoke in a soft and deliberate tone, clear as a bell.

"You made it, thank goodness. One never knows these days. Dangerous times."

"What's happening?" Lemony cut out the pleasantries. He'd been told they appreciate that. 

The hotel manager locked eyes with him. "You are being invited to take some time off."

"By who?"

"By management."

"You?"

"No. Everyone has superiors, Mr. Snicket."

"I don't think I take orders."

"It's a suggestion."

"A friendly suggestion?"

"Don't you want some time to relax? I thought you'd be pleased. We are guaranteeing your safety, that can't happen too often. It's a gift from upstairs."

"A friendly gift?"

"If you continue working so hard you _will_ do yourself an injury. No one is immune to burning out, not even you. It's a concern."

"A friendly concern?"

The manager shot him an exasperated look, which Lemony took as an enormous victory for the indomitable human spirit.

"Please, just sit down. I promise, no one means you any harm."

Lemony didn't move. He just stared, attempting to judge the man in front of him. A suggestion, a gift, a concern. A demand, a bribe, a threat. He scrutinised his face, studying the strong curl of his brow, the precise curve of his lips, looking for any sign of intent. There was a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth, but then again, there usually was. Lemony knew it was the sort of smile that could mean anything. Of course, ordinarily it would be very rude to stare at someone for a long time instead of responding to the things they just said, but he figured that, of all people, _this_ man would definitely understand. It must be normal for him by now.

Eventually, Lemony spoke. "Frank would never ask me to stop working if important events were taking place."

"But I am."

"Yes."

"So maybe important events are _not_ taking place." It was a weak attempt, and both of them knew it. Lemony suspected it was a joke.

"You're Ernest, and I would like to leave now."

Ernest smiled at him for a moment, then lowered his gaze to the floor, his expression a strange mix of guilt and amusement. "I simply can't let you do that. But we needn't be at odds. Please sit down."

Lemony wondered if he should try to get past him by force. The manager was much smaller than himself, and spindlier, it was true, but Lemony had no doubt from his feline poise and reputed... role in the hotel that he was highly trained in something or other, probably, and could defeat him in a fair fight, definitely. Ernest watched these thoughts crossing Lemony's face and squared up, regarding him coolly from under drooping eyelids, looking every inch the thug. Lemony decided to sit down. He preferred flight to fight anyway. It was a preference.

 

* * *

 

Ernest sat on the couch opposite him, sighing as though the weight of the world had been lifted, and produced a small packet from his pocket.

"Good, it's much more pleasant to be civil. I've got gum, d'you want one?"

Lemony startled at the box being shaken at him. "Uh, no thank you?"

Ernest shrugged and took two himself, settling back against the cushions. It seemed he was fully prepared to sit in silence for the whole... unknown length of time. Lemony had expected something more like a villainous monologue. He fidgeted and looked around a little, gathering his thoughts.

Important events were taking place in the hotel today. His associates were expecting him to be available. There could be messages for him right now on the telegraph machine under the floorboards of Room 809. Vital messages like, _'Am taking the elevator and will not be returning it'_ , or perhaps _'Please bring very long pliers'_ , or even _'Manager seen collecting boleadoras and appointment cards; avoid at all costs'_. However, he realised, it would also be helpful to his associates if they had one less enemy agent stalking the halls. If Ernest thought it was enough to just supervise him, his side would be one person short too. Though if he were to realise the stalemate, Ernest would incapacitate him more _severely_ and be free to cause trouble. Lemony hurriedly started making conversation.

"So, if this is Room 615, what's the theme?"

"Hm?" Ernest blinked and refocused, as if emerging from a dream. "Oh, this is physio-and-pharmaco therapy, which in practice has become something more like a massage parlour. Guests come in with stresses and aches and I relax them and get the tension out. Professionally," he added, with a significant look. Daring any comment.

"You do this yourself?"

He shrugged again. Chewed on his gum. "I'm trained in many disciplines, this happens to be one of them. It fits in with my skillset." Ernest's demeanour brightened a little and he sat forward, "Why, Mr Snicket, do you want a sample? It'd do you good, I really am deadly serious about that."

"I noticed. You're very insistent."

"Sorry, I shouldn't push, I know."

"No no, it's fine, I don't mind," Lemony found himself reassuring the man who'd absolutely, definitely threatened him with stone cold violence only minutes before. He fancied he saw Ernest smirk, and cursed internally. Maintain control of the room, Snicket. Concentrate. If his enemy was offering a truce, and that truce also happened to be a sure-fire way of keeping track of his enemy's actions, he should accept. That sounded like sense.

"You're right, I don't get many chances to look after myself, and I am very tense right now. Would you?"

Ernest sparkled delightedly. "Of course! Tell you what, why don't you come sit in front of a mirror, that way you can see and don't have to be so paranoid."

Another reasonable suggestion. Everything was so perfectly reasonable.

 

* * *

 

It's always pleasant to be made to feel safe and comfortable. That was the nature of being safe and comfortable. That's what it _means_. If someone is making sure you feel safe, and comfortable, you are going to feel pleasant. If you don't feel pleasant, the attempt isn't working. If you do feel pleasant, and safe, and comfortable, it is. Working. And therefore you are. Comfortable, that is. Perhaps even comfortable without being safe. This depended, he supposed, on the difference between feeling something is so, and something actually being so. It didn't matter. Lemony was too comfortable to consider it right now. His thoughts circled idly. Strong hands circled his shoulders. Very pleasant.

In the mirror he could see Ernest stood behind him, tie tucked safely into his vest, sleeves rolled up and a towel slung over one shoulder. He had ushered Lemony to a seat with a headrest, politely remaining in eyeline and not making any surreptitious-looking movements. He had removed his suit jacket and pointed out that, really, you needed to be topless for this, and Lemony had said oh yes, of course, as if this had slipped his mind instead of caused him to hesitate, and taken off his shirt, and nobody had made a fuss about it, and he had actually relaxed, and now Ernest was rubbing something into his neck that smelt... incredible. It smelt of summer.

The manager was obviously skilled, that hadn't been a lie. His palms worked the oil across his flesh with just the right firmness and friction to make his skin tingle. His fingertips pressed confidently into the exact hollows that made him hum with appreciation. He wanted more than anything to drift off and allow himself to be looked after, but Lemony was still playing the game. He had to be. As casually as possible, he watched Ernest's reflection. The man seemed totally absorbed in his work. In fact, Ernest looked more peaceful than he had ever seen him before. The enigmatic smile didn't seem as forced, though still impenetrable. A slight, strange frown of concentration was on his brow. Something ancient stirred in the back of Lemony's mind. He could believe that this was a genuine pleasure for Ernest, no matter what other motives were in play. The attraction of a simple, intimate, uncomplicated, repetitive task. Lemony cleared his throat and summoned a more jovial tone.

"If I'm getting a free pampering, what are you getting out of this?"

“Nothing, technically. It’s just good to have human contact. There's some science to that, I think. To be perfectly honest, it's just difficult to find any sort of companionship what with everything...” his eyes flickered down, then nervously at the door, “...out there”.

The weight of this statement fell heavily on Lemony, and for a moment he allowed himself to feel the constant suffocation Ernest was referring to. Just for a moment. Then he reminded himself that he was being manipulated, and that this sort of reaction was exactly the intended outcome.

“I don’t believe you.”

Ernest quirked an eyebrow at him. “You don’t believe I have feelings? You wound me.”

“I don’t believe that’s the reason you brought me here.”

"I don't expect you to believe me, you're a very stubborn person."

Fair enough. Lemony was beginning to understand his point. If they both  _had_ to sit this one out, they would have a much more agreeable time without shop talk, a phrase which in this case meant 'constantly trying to gain the upper hand in a thinly veiled battle of interrogation'. And agreeable times were a rare gift, what with everything... out there. Maybe if 'out there' was Out There, it didn't have to be In Here.

Ernest was doing something soft and magical to his trapezius and he lost his train of thought, though very sharply gained a new one. There was a tight ache in his crotch that unmistakably meant he was going to have to address some things that he had previously hoped could remain unaddressed. Better that he be the one to notice first.

"You know," Lemony started, "I have been in hiding for a long time now, a very long time, and with regards to your previous point about the efficacy of social attention in terms of unfortunate isolation and the unwitting chemical importance placed on the transaction thereof," he unhelpfully continued-

Ernest glanced down at his lap, and carried on without pause. “Oh don't worry about that. It's physical, I know, it happens." Then he looked Lemony dead in the eye, added "...every time, I find." and winked. The sudden brashness was jarring and caught Lemony off guard, and he felt himself blush as he concentrated very hard on frowning angrily at his host. Ernest acknowledged none of it.

"If you wish to continue, we must move to the table over there - the lower back has to be done lying down. I would recommend doing so, to avoid feeling only half done."

Lemony was not blind to the salacious overtones of the request. Lemony had not been blind to the salacious overtones of the entire situation so far. He'd been ignoring it, heroically and very successfully. But now his head was spinning. The vast and sudden difference between his position now and when he'd walked in was giving him vertigo. Hadn't Ernest been offended by the lewd implications of his job title not so long ago? Was Lemony imagining how much the manager wanted to give him attention? Nothing in his words ever truly said so, but this whole contrivance... well, it spoke volumes. Didn't it? And when the man talked of loneliness, it resonated like nothing else in the conversation had. He _has_ been isolated for such a long time now. A very long time... You're getting ahead of yourself, he thought. Ernest made a playful joke. It's his humour. There was a note about it on his file, warning of a tendency to rile polite society. It's camaraderie. Enjoy the break from antagonism. The only one making a fuss here is you, Snicket. No need to analyse that flurry of - he felt a breath on the back of his neck, crashing him back to the present moment.

"That sounds delightful Ernest, thank you."

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lemony Snicket looked out at the ocean as an oil droplet slid down the length of his back.

He was lying prone on the padded massage table, the word ‘prone’ in this instance meaning ‘flat on his stomach side’, rather than ‘particularly vulnerable to unfortunate circumstances’, though he held on to that definition for later. The table didn’t have the usual hole for your face, which seemed odd for a hotel that prides itself on detail, but he remembered Ernest saying that this room had been repurposed and thought no more of it. Instead he chose to gaze off to his right, at the slate-coloured sea beyond the window. It was a spectacular view. Lemony’s relationship with the sea was admittedly very complicated, but that didn’t mean it was any less beautiful to look at. Ernest finished spreading oil and began kneading at his upper torso, creating a delicious warmth that seeped through his flesh.

Lemony still needed to prompt the enemy manager into giving away as much as possible. He regretted this, he really did, and it would be dishonest to say that the offer of a real truce and amicable company wasn't extremely tempting. The things he had read in Ernest’s character profile did support him getting bored enough to ignore affiliations for a while. But under the circumstances it just seemed too... selfish. Surely that kind of selfishness was what marked out the enemy in the first place. It was _their_ weakness. Not ours.

He decided to keep probing.

"So... if this is you skiving, what does everyone else think you're doing?"

Ernest sighed, and started methodically walking his palms across Lemony’s back, leaning his weight into each push.

“If you _must_ know, if you must _ruin_ everything, officially I’m to keep you here under observation for as long as possible.”

“Why?”

“To be certain of your location. You are famously evasive, Mr. Snicket.”

“And why you?”

“Oh, you know me. Ever the lackey.” Lemony could almost hear the rueful smile.

“That’s not even close to true.”

“It is, but okay. _Sweet_ of you to regard me so highly.”

“More foolish not to.”

Ernest moved his hands further down Lemony’s spine, pressing over a knot of lumbar muscle.

“Feels like there’s an old injury here, could be rough, do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

"Breathe in deep."

Lemony took a breath, and promptly moaned it out again when Ernest dug the heels of his hands into the tight muscle just above the hips. A deep, hot ache radiated from the small of his back and echoed along his nerves. He gasped and hummed as Ernest maintained the pressure and slowly rolled it outward, away into other flesh where it fizzed and flashed and faded. Painful, but bearable, and deeply, deeply satisfying. And then it happened again. Lemony distantly thought he should be more embarrassed by the noises he was making, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Ernest gave him a moment to recover before he explained himself further.

"Someone’s true location is possibly the most valuable information our hotel can provide. One place you are, nine hundred and ninety nine places you can’t possibly be."

"You must realise that still applies in the outside world."

"Oh, well yes of _course_. But everything’s so much sharper in here, don’t you think? Surgically precise."

"More organised?"

A dry chuckle. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Your brothers seem to think so."

Ernest traced a finger along a shoulder blade. "I don't want to talk about _them_."

Lemony felt a shiver pass through him. Thick silence hung in the air. Somewhere a candle dripped and hissed.

“What do you want to talk about, Ernest?” he replied. Carefully. Evenly.

“I’d much rather talk about you.”

Hands caressed his sides firmly before sliding away from him altogether, and Lemony instantly missed them.

It occurred to him for the first time that, if anyone was being courted here, it was him, not Ernest, that was the subject, and it was Ernest, not him, taking a risk by looking for signs of approval. What if, Lemony thought, with a dark sting of exhilaration, it was actually _himself_ that had the advantage? That _he_ had the controlling share of influence? It was a daring concept and he tried his best to treat it carefully, but the surge of relief and even confidence at the idea of the slightest scrap of control was intoxicating. It made sense. Temporary infatuation could explain Ernest's lack of guard, reluctance to antagonise and more cautious manner since being, as it were, 'off the clock'. Not that he thought it was anything to do with him _personally_ , just that, sometimes, people get starved for attention and it does influence actions. And, most importantly, it might be affecting his judgement. Ernest’s judgement. Hence, the advantage.

Lemony was an adult and hardly a prude, and it was not the first time he had found himself in a situation in possession of... wiles. Besides, he had no reason to stop being civil. If civility was enough to get Ernest chatty then that was a bonus and hardly his fault. It was in the best interest of every noble person here if a high ranking firestarter was feeling talkative, he announced to himself, rather grandly and more than a little wildly. So that was his justification for, instead of shutting down the dangerous subject, Lemony said:

“What could possibly be so interesting about me?”

“Oh _surely_ you must know. You are something of a celebrity.” Ernest’s voice was so soft now he was practically purring. “Rumours treat you like some mythical creature, or folk hero. Extraordinary tales, retold around the fire.”

Lemony drew himself up on his elbows. The manager stepped past his shoulder and sat delicately on the couch in front, gazing steadily into his face.

“So when they asked for someone to take care of you today, I was glad to volunteer. To see for myself, you understand.”

There seemed to be a haze thickening all around him, fizzing his thoughts. Lemony repositioned his hips to a newly more comfortable angle and huffed, trying to work through the avalanche of implications. It was difficult to keep track of every possible context, and even more difficult when being stared at so intensely. He wanted to reach out and cover Ernest’s eyes. He wondered what would happen if he did. He imagined him nuzzling into his hand like a cat.

Very quietly, and in his best low rumble, he said,

“What is it that you want from me, Ernest Denouement?”

Ernest breathed in and his eyelids fluttered shut. When he opened them again his pupils seemed enormous.

“I think your esteemed celebrity attention will have to be enough for now.”

Lemony felt embarrassment and self-consciousness prickle his skin. It was sickening. It was indulgent. Ernest leaned closer, brow creasing into question marks of concern.

“Do you understand how  _good_ I could make you feel?”

Lemony swallowed.

“...I don’t suppose that’s something you ask all your guests.”

“It certainly isn’t.”

“I can’t make that same exception for you Ernest.”

“No one need know.”

“Perhaps if we could trust each other things would be different.”

“Mm. I hear that a lot. It’s a very stale line.”

“Doesn’t _your_ side trust you?”

“My- _my_ side? My _side?_ ”

Ernest slumped back away from him and laughed. Actually laughed. Lemony wasn’t sure what was funny but took careful note for later analysis. He’d not heard the man falter before.

“I’m a treasonous deserter, my _defining quality_ is that I betray my blood and station. Uncertainty is my very essence. I have no _side_. According to _everyone_ I could turn at any time. I could be a different person, or even _be_ a different person! Who, exactly, is left to trust me?”

Silence rang loud between them.

That… was closer to the melodramatic villainous monologue he’d been waiting for. Lemony gathered his fuzzy nerves and prepared to ask the question, the real question, the one that hid behind all the others. It seemed unlikely he would ever get another chance.

“So why do it? Why do you keep this up?”

Ernest became placid again, and fiddled with his sleeve, rolling it back into place. For the longest time Lemony thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did speak, he sounded clipped and strange.

“Some things are more important than personal gain. I’d have thought, of all people, _you_ would definitely understand that.”

The manager stood and began cleaning himself up with a towel. Lemony moved to sit up. As he did so, the hotel clock chimed. This had a curious effect on Ernest, who froze and whipped round to stare towards the door. All signs of tension, or stress, or amusement, or anything at all, was simply wiped from his face. He hurriedly adjusted his tie and posture as if his entire self was being reset.

“Is someone coming?” Lemony asked, catching the urgency.

“No, no. I’m leaving.”

Ernest turned back towards him and grinned. Broadly. All teeth and no heart.

"This has been fun. We should mutually neutralise more often."

 

* * *

 

Lemony felt suddenly very cold. A rush of adrenaline darkened his vision as he watched Ernest leave. He looked about for his clothes. There they were, his shirt on the couch, his jacket thrown to the floor. Though, he saw now, it wasn't quite lying flat. Something was making a tent in the material. Heart pounding and hands trembling with energy, he knelt and slowly drew back the outer layer.

The lining of the jacket was ripped beyond repair. Each pocket had an ugly slash through it. Jagged cuts left the collar and lapels hanging by threads. But Lemony was only looking at one spot, just to the right of the buttonholes. It had been impaled by a thick knife, the handle sticking upward, pinning the whole dishevelled mess to the floor like the ghost of a murder. Lemony gently touched the blade. He didn't need to look to know that the postcard was gone from the inside pocket, but he checked anyway. Yes, skewered right through where the card would have been. In its place was an empty gum wrapper.

He felt an absurd urge to laugh, even with the swooping dread in his stomach. That extra dramatic flair, making certain he knew how deliberate this all had been.

“Really twisting the knife, you could say,” he mumbled, out loud. It took significant effort to free the blade from the floor. Lemony set it aside and sifted through the tatters of his former clothing. There was nothing else here. Only unanswered questions.

Why wasn’t the knife handle oily to the touch? Had Ernest’s performance been all manipulation and lies, or had there been some truth in the heat of improvisation? And why would his chewing gum brand of choice have Lemony’s own initials printed on the wrapper?

There was no avoiding it. Eventually he would have to face his associates and find out how they had fared without him. And, of course, give his own account.

Surely it made no difference _how_ he had been detained. Anything that happened outside of this room would’ve played out identically, either way. He needn’t feel guilty. No one need know. The blank postcard was nothing, the real target presumably still hidden. And he had new things to investigate. That was good. Technically speaking, between the decoy and the information, he had _won_ this encounter.

Lemony Snicket gathered his things, tidied the area, left the knife on the table and set off to find the nearest acceptable restaurant.

 

* * *

 

 


	3. The Illuminating Illustrations (part the first)

 


	4. The Illuminating Illustrations (part the last)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [outtakes - x](https://lyeekha.tumblr.com/post/190392350097/double-edged-blooper-reel-details-didnt-happen)


End file.
